Nillionaire

I sit on a throne of unfinished things, wearing a crown of missed chances, a robe of echoes and brittle stances, stitched with the pull of quiet strings. My mini palace is kept on my palm, built from silent, paused goodbyes. I spread my kingdom with quiet gaze, ruled it with intent none could revise. I am self-slaved by chosen remand, My soldier thumb obeys each command My courtier eyes chart where I land Time kneels before my wordless stand. I claimed the void they wouldn't dare and named myself the nillionaire.